Shut up, Sherlock!
by Sofia777
Summary: Just silly drabbles because I love awkward moments between John and Sherlock! Chapter 1: in bed. Chapter 2: in the shower. Chapter 3: in bed again... Chapter 4 and 5: in the hospital. Chapter 6 and 7: a case. Chapter 8: Fanfiction. Chapter 9: fights. Chapter 10: hypothermia. No slash, just intimacy and awkwardness! Enjoy and review!
1. Chapter 1

Just a short drabble. Read, enjoy and review!

(I don't own anything!)

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John was dead on his feet. The case was finally closed (the husband killed his wife's lover, 'obviously' Sherlock had remarked, but he couldn't have come to that conclusion 46 hours ago?!) and John could finally get some rest.

He considered dropping on his bed without even taking his shoes off – he knew he could sleep right away – but after being awake for this long he decided he could take two minutes to undress.

Just when the doctor lay down on his sheets wearing only his pajama bottoms his phone buzzed.

'Oh no!' He moaned to himself. He knew who this was….

_Come down now. I need your assistance._ – SH

John texted back: _No way in hell Sherlock. I am not leaving my bed._

He fully expected a text back from his annoying flat mate, but instead his phone stayed quiet. Good. John closed his eyes to sleep, but then:

'John?'

Damn it! The doctor thought. I'll just keep my eyes closed!

'I know you're awake.'

John opened his eyes. 'Go away, Sherlock!' He grunted. 'I am too tired to assist you with anything right now!'

'But this will be very easy, I promise!'

'I don't care! I told you: I am not leaving my bed.' John closed his eyes again.

'You don't have to leave your bed for this!'

John opened one eye. 'Dare I ask what this experiment is about?'

'It's very simple!' Sherlock began enthusiastically while laying a notebook and some other things on the bed. 'I have been thinking about how the murderer got into the victims' house.'

'You already established that; he climbed through the toilet window!'

'Yes I know that John, but it is remarkable that he fitted through that small window! I want to know his exact movements to establish how he managed to do that!' Sherlock fussed.

'And what do you need me for?'

'Well, you have almost the same height and weight as our murderer.'

'If you think you can force me to try to climb through our toilet window…' John started.

'Don't be ridiculous, John!' Sherlock frowned at him. 'Didn't I tell you you can stay in bed?'

'Then whaa…' John yawned. 'what do you need from me exactly?'

Sherlock held up a measuring tape. 'Your exact measurements!'

John stared at him. 'So let me get this straight…. You are going to measure me, only measure me, and then calculate how exactly a man of my height and weight fits through a toilet window…?'

'Yes, obviously.'

'And you're sure you do not have better things to do with your time? Sleeping perhaps?'

The detective ignored the sarcasm. 'Sleeping is overrated. Can I measure you or not?'

John sighed. 'Fine. Whatever.'

Sherlock enthusiastically pulled out the measuring tape while John lay down. Sherlock started with the length of his legs, then his arms, then the length between his hip and his shoulder, then between his fingers.

'What do you need that for?' John asked.

'Hmm? Oh just some gathering of general information I might use later. I can apply the knowledge I gain here to solve some other mysteries regarding this case.'

John closed his eyes. This is okay, he thought. I wish all his experiments were like this.

John felt his body relax while one of Sherlock's remarkably warm hands rested on his chest to measure his collar bone. Then the hand moved to his abdomen while Sherlock measured his rib cage. John almost fell asleep when suddenly, without warning, Sherlock's hand slid down from his stomach, under the band of his pajama bottoms between his legs.

'Jesus Sherlock!' John yelled in a high pitched voice, leaping away from the detective.

'What?' Sherlock looked at him innocently.

'What the bloody hell do you think you're you doing?' John yelled again.

'I told you: taking your measurements.'

'_There?!' _ John shouted, gesturing at his crotch.

'Why not?' Sherlock asked. He seemed seriously confused about John's reaction.

'Bloody hell, Sherlock, have you no sense of normality at all?'

'Why are you getting so upset? I have seen you naked before.'

'Well _seeing_ is different than putting your bloody hand between my legs without announcing or – God forbid- _asking _me!' John shrieked.

'I already _asked_ you!' Sherlock became annoyed.

'No, you asked if you could take measurements for the case! No way you can convince me that the length of his guy's penis had anything to do with how he managed to get through the toilet window!'

'Don't be dense John, of course it has nothing to do with that.'

'Than why the hell were you putting your hand there?' John's voice was still higher than usual.

Sherlock started rolling up the measuring tape. 'Mrs Jenning said that the reason she started cheating on her husband is because he was unable to satisfy her sexually. She claimed her lover's ability to please her was mainly because of the size of his-'

'Than take his bloody measurement!' John bellowed.

Sherlock glared at him. 'Measuring a dead man's penis? That is macabre John, even for me!'

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. He sunk down on the bed, his back to Sherlock.

'Anyway,' Sherlock continued, 'since you seem to always have a girlfriend I thought I check if there is any true to her theory.'

'That is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.' John murmured.

'I agree.' Sherlock said absentmindedly while putting the measuring tape in a box. 'Based on what I felt there is no way _length_ has anything to do with it.'

John felt his face burn. He quickly turned to Sherlock. '_I was asleep!' _

'Aha!' Sherlock gave him an excited look. 'So in an aroused state it is bigger?' He leaped toward John. 'That can be arranged if I just stimulate your-'

But John jolted away. 'Oh no! No, you don't get to stimulate my anything Sherlock!'

'Why not?' Sherlock pouted.

'Because I don't want you touching me!'

'You had no problem with me touching you before!'

'But I have a problem with you touching me _there_!'

'But it's for...'

'I don't care if it is for science!'

'But…'

'No more buts! Shut up and let me sleep!' John snapped while laying back down at the bed.

Sherlock stared at John without moving for a few seconds, and then he lay down on the bed next to his friend.

'Don't you have a toilet window to measure?' John grunted without opening his eyes.

'It can wait.' The detective said. 'I think I'll sleep a bit first.'

'Good idea.' John took a deep breath and tried to relax.

It was silent for a while and then Sherlock asked: 'So how many inches….'

'Shut up Sherlock!'

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	2. Chapter 2

Read, enjoy and review, please!

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'Stop that annoying grinding of your teeth, John.'

'Shut up, Sherlock.'

'You have no reason to be angry. I solved the case.'

'I'm covered in _shit._'

'So am I.'

'Did we really have to dive into the sewers to get this guy? Personally I think we could have let him rot in there!'

'Don't be ridiculous, John! He could have come out of the drain anywhere in London. How would we have found him then?'

'Follow the smell?'

'Very funny, John. Meanwhile, you didn't have to dive in after me, I had the situation under control.'

'Whatever. Take your clothes off, we are taking a shower.'

'_We?'_

'Yes, we. Look at yourself, if you didn't break both your hands you at least bruised them badly. What on earth were you thinking? That you were a boxing champion?'

'Actually, _doctor_, I was a boxing champion. And I also know my hands are not broken.'

'Fine, shower by yourself. Start by taking your shirt off.'

Sherlock glared at his flat mate standing angrily in front of him. He started fidgeting on the buttons of his shirt – indeed all covered in "shit" as John called it – but the pain in his hands stopped him.

John sighed impatiently. 'You know what? I think I'll shower first.' He grabbed the garbage can from the bathroom and planted it between him and Sherlock. 'Here. Put your clothes in this when you got them off.' John took off his jumper and shirt in one movement and kicked off his shoes before removing his pants and underwear, while Sherlock was still attempting to undo the button.

'Well, good luck with that.' And John disappeared into the bathroom.

'Wait.' Sherlock grunted, his teeth clenched together.

John stuck his head out.

'Help me with this.' The detective said without looking at him. 'Please.'

John got out of the bathroom again and started undressing Sherlock.

'Are we really going to shower together?' The detective asked.

'Well, you obviously cannot shower yourself and since we both sink terribly…'

'People might talk….'

John gave him a firm look. '_People_ will never know, will they? Now, come on.'

The pair stepped into the shower, the hot water started washing away part of the smell immediately. John got a big bottle of soap and two sponges and started washing himself and Sherlock. He was still angry and that was probably a good thing because otherwise he would start thinking about how awkward and embarrassing it was to be washing a totally naked Sherlock, while being totally naked himself. He wished Sherlock would stop following his every move with his eyes.

'A bit awkward this…' Sherlock mumbled.

'Hmpf' John huffed, 'Awkward for me, you mean.'

'You? I am the one who has to be washed like an invalid! And I really don't like to be touched!'

'No shit! So now you know how I felt when you put your hand in my pants the other day.'

'That was for…'

'Science, yeah yeah. Relax will you? I am a doctor remember. And I was in the army! I have literally seen over a hundred naked men.'

'Did you wash them too?' Sherlock mocked.

'Would you shut up?!' John snapped. He tried to wash his flat mate's hair, but he couldn't reach it. 'Kneel down so I can wash your hair.' He ordered. Sherlock wanted to obey, but John stopped him. 'No! Face the other way, you idiot!'

He was glad the detective turned around before he could see the blush on the doctors' face. He had indeed seen a lot of naked men, and it had never mattered to him at all, but this was different. This was Sherlock.

John started soaping his friend's dark locks. He hadn't realized before that is was quite long.

This was rather nice actually. Intimate, but not uncomfortable. Maybe because they didn't face each other. Sherlock seemed to enjoy it too: he kept turning his head a little bit to where he wanted John's hands. Eventually he bent his head far forward. John took the hint and started to wash (massage really) his friends' neck and shoulders.

'Jesus Sherlock, do you ever relax?' His words were strong but his tone was soft, kind.

'Hmm…. sometimes, why?'

'The muscles in your back and shoulders are all knotted. You must get a lot of headaches.'

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead he straightened his back a bit, trying to force John's hands lower, but John, still standing up, couldn't reach it.

Suddenly the water started to get colder.

'Ah bugger, I think we are out of hot water.'

Sherlock got up and turned around, 'I suppose we're clean enough any way.'

'Yeah…' John was uncomfortable with Sherlock staring at him like that. Suddenly he was very aware again that he was completely naked.

'Yeah, right, so…' He turned off the water. 'Let's out of here.' John stepped out of the shower and grabbed two towels.

'Listen,' he said while wrapping a towel around Sherlock, 'I will quickly dry myself and then I'll help you. I should have brought us some dry clothes…'

'Doesn't matter.' Sherlock stated while getting out of the shower. 'It is not like we have anything to hide anymore anyway.'

John grinned. 'Good point.'

After he was done he started drying his friend. Sherlock didn't seem at all uncomfortable, or maybe he was just hiding it as good as John.

'You should really do something about those knots, though.' John remarked.

'What do you suggest, doctor?'

'I don't know. Massage it or something.'

'Sure, massaging my own back will be easy.' Sherlock scorned.

'Then get someone else to do it. Or don't do it at all!' John was annoyed.

Sherlock watched him.

'You can do it.' He stated.

'Yeah well, I don't want to do it.' John responded.

'If you do it I will let you take me to the hospital to get my hands ex-rayed.'

John frowned. 'Why do you think I care about what you do with your hands?'

Sherlock gave him a look. 'Because you know that you will have to be helping me like this with everything I do if my hands _are _broken and I don't get medical assistance.'

'Why would I do that?' John threatened. But he knew the answer, and so did Sherlock.

'Sentiment, caring….'

John sighed. He knew he couldn't win this argument. 'Fine. Alright. I will massage your back, you annoying git!' He wrapped a towel around Sherlock's waist.

'Do you have any oil or something?' Sherlock shook his head. John wrapped a towel around himself and stepped out of the bathroom with Sherlock following him.

'Oh…I see I interrupt….' Mrs. Hudson stood in the room, facing her boys, wrapped in nothing but two towels, coming out of the shower, together….

'Oh no,' John said quickly, 'this isn't what it seems.' His cheeks were burning under her smug smile. He could die of embarrassment!

But Sherlock said: 'Ah Mrs. Hudson, do you have any massage oil?'

'Shut up, Sherlock!'

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	3. Chapter 3

Over the years, John got used to Sherlock's oddities and mood swings. He learned which ones to accommodate and which to ignore. It was a matter of picking your battles, really.

So when John noticed that Sherlock started sleeping on his bed, he decided to ignore it. Maybe the detective thought that John didn't realize it, but the doctor had developed some deduction skills of his own. And also: John woke up one night and saw the detective lying next to him, on his back, eyes closed but John could tell he wasn't sleeping. Sherlock was fully dressed and lying on top of the covers, not under them. John fell asleep again and in the morning his friend was gone.

He didn't speak about it and neither did Sherlock, but John noticed it happened at least three other times in the weeks after. John became careful not to let his friend know that he was aware of his nightly visits.

However, the fact that Sherlock lay on top of the covers prevented John from being able to pull the covers with him when he turned. This was very frustrating for John who usually moved a lot in bed.

One morning John was in a bad mood after not letting himself turn all night to accommodate Sherlock lying next to him. The doctor came into the kitchen, yawning, and saw the detective sitting at the table, preoccupied with one of his experiments. He looked well rested.

John was annoyed. He had enough of the façade to make thing easier for Sherlock.

So he said: 'Next time, will you lay _under_ the bloody covers?'

Sherlock didn't look up, but John could see he froze temporarily. Immediately, John regretted his strong language.

'Look, I don't care where you sleep but I want to be able to toss and turn, if you don't mind.'

Sherlock focused on his experiment again.

'Sure.' He answered, so softly that John almost didn't hear him.

So, from that day, Sherlock would climb under the covers whenever he wanted to sleep in John's bed. They never spoke about it again and John went back to ignoring the matter all together, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder _why_ the detective joined him in bed. What did he get out of it? They never spoke or touched each other while they were in bed. Sherlock never came in before John fell asleep and he never stayed till the doctor woke up in the morning. John often wondered if his friend even slept at all those nights. So why did he do it? Maybe it was the closest thing to intimacy the detective was capable of? In any case, John decided not to push the matter.

Until one night... One night after a particularly brutal and shocking case. Sherlock, John and the Yarders had been hunting a serial killer for two weeks. And not just any serial killer; one that targeted children. Girls. The three little bodies John had examined after the killings were burned into his memory. It had affected even Sherlock. No one could tell, but John knew. Sherlock had joined him in bed every night they were able to sleep.

That night they finally found the location where the killer was holding his fourth victim. They had calculated she was still alive when they went there. Sherlock had been able to determine his method: he kept them alive for 24 hours before stabbing them to death. Lestrade had ordered everyone to stay together and search the building floor by floor, but Sherlock was determined that the killer was hiding at the top floor and they were running out of time. He ignored Lestrade's orders and went straight up to the top floor. By himself.

By the time John realized what he had done, and he and Lestrade arrived at the top floor, the killer and girl were dead. John tried to safe the child, but she had died in the seconds before his arrival. The killers' knife was still stuck in her chest.

Sherlock gave his statement at the Scotland Yard office. He was his cold, emotionless self, giving his statement of the events in a mechanic manner: when he came into the room where the killer held the girl, he stabbed her in front of him. Sherlock immediately shot him and tried to rescue the girl, but she bled to death in less than 3 seconds.

The whole case had left John in a state of shock. All the way home in the taxi Sherlock didn't speak. John tried to get him to talk, but his answers were short and rude, if he answered John at all.

At home, the doctor made him tea, but Sherlock didn't touch the cup. He lay on the couch, thinking, no doubt.

'I'm going to bed.' John said while getting up.

No response.

'Let me know if you need anything.'

Silence.

'Good night.'

If the detective had heard him he didn't show it at all.

Later that night, when John awoke from an uneasy sleep, he felt Sherlock getting in bed with him.

He couldn't ignore it anymore. Sherlock must want to talk, considering what he had been through that evening. He turned towards his friend.

'Hi….' He whispered to the dark.

Sherlock didn't respond.

'Listen Sherlock, if you want to talk…'

'I don't!' His voice was sharp.

John hesitated before speaking again. 'It's perfectly normal to be in shock after…'

'I am not _in shock_, John. Leave it alone.'

'You can tell me…'

'I don't want to tell you anything, John. Just go to sleep.'

'But you saw a child being killed; you can't _not_ feel anything!' John exclaimed.

'Sorry to disappoint you with my lack of display of emotions.' Sherlock hissed at him.

'You don't disappoint me! Just tell me what you need…'

'For heaven's sake John!' Sherlock snapped at him. 'Would you stop talking!'

John was insulted. 'Then why the hell do you come to my bed?!' He spit the words at the detective before turning on his other side, his back towards Sherlock.

John felt very angry and uneasy. He tried to sleep again, but he couldn't.

After a few minutes John felt Sherlock move. A second later John felt a cold hand slip around his waist and Sherlock's body leaning against his back.

John froze. Sherlock was spooning him!

John held his breath. What to do? This was uncomfortable. Should he say something? But Sherlock had made it clear he didn't want to talk. And John had said 'tell me what you need'…. Maybe this was what his friend needed. John exhaled and tried to relax his body in Sherlock's arms. He wrapped his hand around Sherlock's and squeezed it very lightly, hoping the move would say it all.

And it did. Sherlock hugged him a little tighter and rested his head on John's shoulder.

John heard Sherlock inhale and whisper, very softly, his voice breaking: 'I'm s-sorry.'

John had to fight the urge to turn around and embrace his friend. Instead he squeezed his hand again and whispered: 'Shut up, Sherlock.'

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Thanks for reading! I really like to hear your opinion!


	4. Chapter 4

'Sherlock, stop that bloody pacing and sit down!' John snapped at his friend.

'I hate hospitals.' Sherlock responded while he walked agitated up and down the small examination room.

'No one _likes _hospitals, especially not if you are actually injured, like me.'

Sherlock snorted. 'Injured? It is a scratch.'

'It is a bullet wound! Coming from a bullet that was meant for you, I might add.'

'Your own fault!' Sherlock waived it away. 'Don't be so bloody noble next time!'

John took a deep breath and counted till ten, than he grunted: 'You're welcome.'

Sherlock was right that it was not a very deep wound. A few stitches would suffice. Sherlock had offered to do it ('Wonderful! All that practicing on pigs will finally pay off!') but John had respectfully declined and insisted they go to a hospital. Sherlock went with him, but he hadn't stopped complaining since they got there, nor had he stood still for a second.

'You can leave if you want, you know.' John was getting annoyed.

'I probably will!' Sherlock bit back.

At that moment the door opened: 'Good evening, John Hamish Watson?'

John and Sherlock looked up. The woman who just walked in was… absolutely stunning. She was young, had blonde hair, blue, sparkling eyes and curvy hips. She smiled at John.

'Hi, I'm Doctor Finkly. You can call me Grace.'

'H..hi Grace, I'm John.'

She grinned. 'I knew that.'

Right, John thought, stupid!

'And you are…?' Grace turned to Sherlock, but John answered before he could say anything: 'He was just leaving, right Sherlock?'

But Sherlock, finally standing still and staring at Doctor Finkly, said: 'No, I changed my mind. I'll stay.' And he sat down on one of the chairs. After all his pacing he now looked like a statue; pale and motionless, staring at Doctor Finkly.

Grace started examining the wound.

'It is not very deep. You are lucky, mister Watson.'

'_Doctor_', Sherlock corrected.

Grace looked up. 'Sorry?'

'It's_ Doctor_ Watson.' Sherlock repeated.

'Really?' Grace looked at John, who blushed and avoided her eyes.

'Yeah, sort of…' He murmured.

'And how did you get this bullet wound, Doctor Watson?' Grace asked.

'Accident at the shooting ranch.' Sherlock responded before John could say anything. He gave his friend a look. 'Sherlock…'

'Don't be embarrassed, John,' the detective continued, 'it can happened to anyone.'

John glanced at him. Sherlock stared back.

Grace looked from one to the other. Of course she could tell something was wrong. 'Hmm, I have to go get some things and then I'll come back to stitch that up.'

She smiled at John again before she left the room.

John burst out as soon as the door closed: 'What the hell was that, Sherlock? Why can't we tell her the true?'

'Why? So you look like a hero?' Sherlock mocked.

'No, so we are being _honest_.'

'Whatever for? So you can ask her out on a date? Let me tell you something about her, John: she is in a long standing relationship, possibly even engagement, but she flirts with patients because she gets a kick out of it. She will never go out with you, so you might as well-'

'Enough!' John snapped at him. 'That is enough, Sherlock! We are just going to be honest with Grace! Not because I want to date her, but because we have nothing to hide.'

'Or else?'

John sighed. 'Don't be so childish, Sherlock!'

But the detective didn't move.

John stared at him. 'Or else I will tell Mycroft about the breakdown you had after the child-killer-case.'

'Go ahead, he doesn't care!'

'I will tell Lestrade!'

'Pff, same thing!'

'I will….' John thought for a second, 'I will never massage your back again!'

Sherlock squinted at him.

'Fine.' Sherlock spat, just when Doctor Finkly came back in.

'So, what's going on here?' She asked cheerfully.

Sherlock turned and gave her one of his fake smiles. 'Nothing much. Doctor Watson was just blackmailing me into telling you that he actually got that bullet wound while we were chasing a criminal through London. I didn't think you needed to know this, but John threatened tell my brother Mycroft and Detective Inspector Lestrade about the time we shared a bed after a particularly vicious murder. When that didn't work he threatened to stop massaging my back in the shower.'

Grace stared at him.

John was shocked. 'Jesus Sherlock!'

'What? You said we had to be honest.' Sherlock whispered to him.

'You…ehm, you share a shower?' Grace asked. Sherlock immediately responded: 'On occasion. But we are not having intercourse, because, as John is dying to tell you, he is not gay.'

'But you are?' Grace asked the detective.

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but John had heard enough: 'For God's sake, just shut up, Sherlock!'

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Thanks for reading! Please leave a review! Also, any requests are welcome :)


	5. Chapter 5

IN THE HOSPITAL, PART 2

'Why didn't you let me answer her question?' Sherlock gave John an investigative look while his friend was trying to put his shirt back on. Doctor Finkly had just left the room to get John some painkillers.

John ignored Sherlock's question, but the detective didn't leave it alone:

'You are curious. I know you are! Why don't you want to know the answer?'

'It was an unprofessional thing to ask, Sherlock.'

'She asked _me_ and I didn't mind answering.'

'Well I minded.' John said abruptly. 'Help me with the buttons.'

Sherlock stepped closer but didn't help. Instead he gazed at John.

'You don't want to know because you are afraid. Afraid that the answer might put things in a different perspective. You worry that if I _am_ gay the things you did for me and I did for you have meant something else. You will start to wonder if I had any _feelings_ when you helped me in the shower the other day.'

John evaded his eyes, but Sherlock continued . 'Or when you massaged my back. Or every night you let me sleep in your bed. Or when you comforted me. And you would especially wonder…' Sherlock lingered in front of John, making it impossible to avoid his stare, '…about that time I put my hand down your pants and touched your…'

Suddenly someone near the door cleared his throat and John and Sherlock looked up.

'I don't want to hear the end of that sentence!' Detective Inspector Lestrade said.

John's face was burning. This day could not get any worse! What was it with people walking in at the wrong moment these days?! The doctor was too embarrassed to speak, but Sherlock didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable.

'Ah detective inspector, did you catch the shooter?'

'Yes we did actually…'

At that moment Doctor Finkly came back in. 'Good evening. It is getting rather crowded in here.'

She smiled at John. John smiled back.

Lestrade looked from John eyeing Doctor Finkly, to her beaming back, to Sherlock glaring at the two.

'Let's step outside, shall we?' He said to Sherlock.

'Why?' The detective answered, but Lestrade was already walking out of the room.

'We give those two some privacy.' The DI said while standing in the hallway.

'Privacy to do what?' Sherlock spat.

'To have a conversation without you embarrassing him.'

Sherlock made a face. 'I can assure you that John does not need me for that.'

'Give it a rest Sherlock. I see how defensive you get when any woman gets _near_ John.'

'I most certainly do not get "defensive".'

'You are afraid he will leave you for someone who is actually nice to him.'

'You know, for a detective inspector your instincts are alarmingly far off!' Sherlock snapped at him.

'Oh really?' Lestrade asked, mockingly, 'so you don't mind at all that she is giving him her number right now?'

Sherlock quickly turned around and saw through the windows of the doors how Doctor Finkly gave John a piece of paper that was clearly torn off from one of her documents. It had something scribbled on it. It was not a prescription.

Lestrade cleared his throat again. 'You were saying?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'John can do whatever he wants with whoever he wants. I couldn't care less.'

'Of course you couldn't.' Lestrade answered sarcastically.

Ten minutes later Sherlock and John were walking out of the hospital. Lestrade had quickly briefed them and then left. He had offered them a ride, but Sherlock had declined for the both of them.

When they stepped into the cold, crisp night Sherlock turned his coat collar up. 'So, are you going to call her?'

'Who?'

'Don't be dense, John. Doctor Finkly of course.'

'How do you know she gave me…? Oh never mind!' John tied his scarf around his neck.

'Well?' Sherlock pushed.

'I don't know, maybe.'

They walked in silence for a while, then John suddenly said: 'I know the answer, you know.'

'What answer?'

'To Doctor Finkly's question. I know you're gay. Or bisexual, at least.'

Sherlock quickly glanced at his friend. 'Why do you think you know that?'

John took a deep breath. 'During our first dinner, when you thought I was coming on to you...'

'You _were_ coming on to me.'

'I was not!'

'Was too!'

John clenched his fists. 'Anyway. You said you were flattered by my interested but you were not really looking for anything.'

Sherlock was silent, so John continued: 'A straight bloke might have said the first part, but definitely not the second, because of what it implicates. So…'

Sherlock glimpsed at the doctor again. John looked back. It was only a second, then they continued walking.

After almost a block, the detective suddenly spoke again: 'A straight bloke might have let his flat mate sleep _on _his bed, but he would definitely not invite him to sleep _in_ it, because of what it implicates. So…'

John smiled. 'Shut up, Sherlock.'

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Thanks for reading! If you liked it, please leave a review!


	6. Chapter 6

The house was a mess. Sherlock had run off for some case with a client and he had left John with a kitchen full of the remainders of some messy experiment John didn't want to think about. He was tired and annoyed when he heard his phone ring. It was Lestrade.

'John, how are you?'

'Fine. Listen, Sherlock isn't here.'

'I know. I'm calling for you.'

John frowned, which Lestrade seemed to notice, even over the phone.

'Yeah I know this is not your job but we have a case and I could really use you…. Would you mind coming to the station?'

'Eeh… no not at all. I'll be there in twenty minutes.'

'Great. Thanks John!'

'Sure.'

John hung up. This was strange. What would Lestrade need him for? The Yard had a complete medical team and even Anderson, despite his many flaws, was a capable forensic most of the time.

But John was intrigued and twenty minutes later he walked into Lestrade's office.

'Good afternoon Detective Inspector.'

'Ha John, good that you came. Please sit! Do you want some coffee?' The DI seemed nervous. What was going on?

'No thanks. Are you okay, Greg?'

'Actually John, I've been better. We have been chasing a notorious serial killer for weeks now and finally we might have a way to lore him into a trap.'

'Eeh… good for you. So why am I here?'

Lestrade fidgeted with his pen. 'We sort of…. We could use your help to set the trap…'

John became suspicious. 'Just tell me what you need, Greg!'

Lestrade put down his pen, leaned forward on his desk and gave John a serious look. 'We need you to be the bait.'

John was startled. 'Me? The bait? But… Why me?'

Lestrade explained how the serial killer targeted people how were somehow related to the Army. The victims appeared otherwise random: men, women, soldiers, civilian personnel, medics, and all of different ranks. Their only connection was the Army. The psychologists of the Yard suspected that the killer had some sort of complex after having been rejected by the Army several times, but they could not provide a clear enough profile to find a suspect. Lestrade was getting desperate and therefore he decided to set a trap. Of course they had considered an undercover agent as bait, but the methods and the crime scenes for the killer showed that he was extremely careful, well-organized and with extensive knowledge of his victims; he would see right through the fake target.

'So… you want to provide him with a genuine one…?' John asked.

Lestrade gave him a pained look. 'I would never ask you if there was any other way, John! And I promise we will protect you so well! Nothing will happen to you!' He stared at him intensely.

John took a deep breath. 'Do worry Greg, I'll do it.'

Greg's face lighted up in relief. 'Really?'

'No.' snarled a baritone voice by the door. Lestrade and John turned to look.

'Sherlock, what are you doing here?' John asked surprised.

'Stopping you from doing something extremely stupid.'

'What? Why do you think…' John started, but Sherlock interrupted him. 'I wasn't talking to you John.'

John ignored the insult. 'How did you even know I was here?'

'I deduced it.' Sherlock stated without taking his eyes of  
Lestrade.

'How the bloody hell did you deduce that?'

'Easy.' Sherlock glanced at John, 'You left your mobile at home.' He tossed John his phone.

'Sherlock,' Lestrade got up behind his desk, 'this case does not concern you.'

'Doesn't it? If I understood correctly you intent to use my blogger as bait for a serial killer?'

_'Your blogger?'_ John repeated, 'what am I? Your pet?'

Sherlock flinched when hearing the last word. It was too familiar. John noticed but he ignored it.

Lestrade said: 'Your concern for his well-being is noted but...'

Sherlock interrupted him: 'My_ concern_ is for the well-being of this operation. Watching John act is like watching him dance: humiliating, unconvincing and people always get hurt.'

John's face was red with both anger and embarrassment. 'Just sod of, Sherlock. You heard the DI: we don't need you here.'

'I'm pretty sure that you do, Detective Inspector. Especially since you have to resort to such painfully obvious plans that are doomed for failure.'

'Sherlock, you don't know anything about this case.' Lestrade said.

'I know John's acting cannot fool anyone.'

'I will not be acting. I actually _was_ in the army, remember?!'

'You are _not_ doing this, John.' Sherlock said firmly. 'It is a ridiculous plan. You'll just end up dead and we will be no closer to the killer, but he'll be a lot closer to us.'

'I _am_ doing this, Sherlock. Just because you think I am useless does not mean everybody else does.' John yelled. Sherlock frowned at him. 'I never said you were useless.'

John took a deep breath and stared at the floor in an attempted to calm his anger. Lestrade noticed. 'Why don't you go see Sally, John? She can fill you in on all the details of the case.'

John got up and marched out the door, without looking at his flat mate. Sherlock watched him leave with raised eyebrows. 'What is his problem? He _knows _he is a terrible actor.'

Lestrade gathered his documents. 'If this was your way of showing your concern for John it was lousy.'

'I am not concerned about him.'

'But you are afraid of losing him. We had this conversation before, Sherlock.' Lestrade was making his way to the door. 'I am getting tired of repeating myself to you.'

'Well then don't!' Sherlock responded. 'Because as _I _told _you_ before: you're wrong.'

'Sure.' Lestrade snorted, turning in the doorway. 'And you came in here demanding John not to take part in this scheme because you think it would endanger _the operation_.'

Sherlock looked at him. 'Yes I did.'

Lestrade glared at him and then left the room saying: 'Yeah right! Just shut up, Sherlock.'

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The second part will follow soon! What should happen? Leave me ideas and reviews please :)


	7. Chapter 7

PART 2

They were silent during the taxi ride home. John was tired, his shoulder was hurting, and he was annoyed with his flat mate. Sherlock was clearly angry. Fuming even. But he didn't speak. Other than the well expected 'I told you so' he hadn't said a word to John after the case was closed that night.

John had to admit: things did not go completely as planned, and he got a little injured, but Lestrade arrested the killer. That was the most important thing, right? Why was Sherlock so angry?

John had been sitting at the bar for over an hour and was actually in a rather nice conversation with a beautiful woman when a fierce looking guy with tattoos all over his body sat down next to him. If it wasn't for a case John would have never turned away from the lady to talk to him. When he stirred the conversation towards his army past and the things he had seen in Afghanistan the man became very interested and asked John to go outside with him where they could discuss it without the loud music. John, thinking he was talking to the killer, agreed. Outside, Lestrade and the Yarders arrested the man, and John went back inside to continue his beer with the beautiful girl who was still waiting for him at the bar.

She asked him home with her and they were almost at her place when he received a call from Lestrade: the man they had arrested wasn't the killer, and Sherlock suspected the killer was actually the woman he was talking to. The same woman he was with! John tried to hide his knowledge and leave with an excuse, but as it turned out his acting was indeed not good enough to convince her. As soon as she realized what was going on she attacked him.

They struggled. John was hesitant to hit a woman, but when she stuck a syringe in his arm with something that made him drowsy very fast, he managed to gather his last strength and shot her in the shoulder before he passed out.

Lestrade found the two of them and the killer was taken to the hospital while John was allowed to go home after he was examined by the Yard medics. Most likely she would survive and be trailed for her killings. John thought it had been a successful closing of the case, but Sherlock clearly didn't think so…. His anger was almost radiating from his body.

Once they were back at Baker Street John could not stand his friends' silence any longer.

'What is your problem? The case is closed, we got the killer.'

Sherlock gave him a look, his eyes flaming with anger. 'We got the killer because _I_ realized in time who it really was!'

'So what?' John shrugged. 'I never said the case was closed due to my impeccable acting.' He tried to joke but it only enhanced Sherlock's anger.

'Stop it, John!' He yelled at him. 'Don't be so bloody selfish!'

'Selfish?' John repeated. Now he was getting angry too. '_You_ are calling _me_ selfish? That's rich!'

'Yes I am calling you selfish because you are! You almost got yourself killed!' Sherlock was slamming his fists on the kitchen table.

John was shocked and felt his anger rise. 'What the hell is wrong with you, Sherlock? You run off and endanger yourself all the time! But _I _am supposed to be careful around danger? I was in the bloody army remember! And I saved myself tonight, in case you forgot!' He yelled at his flat mate.

'Barely! You barely saved yourself!' Sherlock screamed back.

They were so loud that they must be waking up Mrs. Hudson.

'And why the hell does that make me selfish?!' John roared.

Sherlock hit the table again and yelled: 'Damn it, John! Don't be so fucking slow! You have a dozen friends. And if you lose one you make a new one. I can't do that! I have one friend. One! I didn't wait 34 years for you only to watch you get yourself killed by some psychopath just to proof you are a bloody hero!'

There was a heavy silence after those words.

John felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water in his face.

_Jesus._ This was the last thing he expected! But at the same time, I made sense, sadly enough.

They were both quiet. John glanced at his flat mate who stared at his hands on the table. He still looked angry, but at the same time he seemed a bit ashamed of revealing the real reason for his anger in his outburst.

John exhaled.

'Sherlock….' He started, unsure of what to say. 'I don't… have that many friends like you. In fact, I don't have any.'

The detective abruptly turned and wanted to walk away from John, but the doctor grabbed his friends' wrist. 'Wait! I didn't mean to upset you tonight, but it's not fair of you to act like you losing me is worse than me losing you! Because I can assure you: it is not!'

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead his eyes flashed to John's hand on his wrist and back to John's face. John stared back, but suddenly felt he was too close and let go. His friend turned away.

'Sherlock…' but Sherlock walked away, slamming the door closed on his way out.

John didn't expect to see Sherlock in his bedroom that night. The doctor was lying on top of the covers, wide awake, when the door opened and the detective walked in. They glanced at each other, then John moved slightly to the left side of the bed to make space for Sherlock, who laid down next to him. They both stared at the ceiling without speaking.

John wanted to say many things. He wanted to tell Sherlock how miserable he had been when he believed his friend was dead. He wanted to tell him he was sorry for scaring him. He wanted to tell him that getting angry was a stupid way to show how much he cared about John. He wanted to tell him he cared a lot about him too….

But instead he didn't say anything. And neither did the detective. They stared at the ceiling until John glanced sideways and cleared his throat. 'Ehm, Sherlock, I…'

'No need to speak John.' His friend said without taking his eyes of the ceiling. 'You were thinking so loud I could have heard you if I was in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen.'

Sherlock grinned at John who felt his cheeks glow. 'Shut up, Sherlock!'

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Thanks for reading! Reviews are most welcome!


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you for the great comments so far! They are really the reason I keep writing! This next chapter our friends are a little bit OoC, but I couldn't resist it…. Read, enjoy and review! Thanks!

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Sunday afternoon. There was no case and John enjoyed some quiet time to read while Sherlock was engaged in something on his laptop. Every now and then his eyes flickered towards John with an odd, curious expression in them. John pretended not to notice, but he couldn't help feeling Sherlock's eyes in his back when he walked to the kitchen to make tea.

_Not this again!_ He thought. His mood was already not good.

When came back into the living room Sherlock openly stared at him. John ignored it. Sherlock cleared his throat.

_No way! I won't bite this time!_ John told himself while he sat down on the couch.

Sherlock got up.

John opened his book again.

Sherlock walked towards him.

John pretended to read.

Sherlock sat down at the coffee table, right in front of John who still pretended not to see him.

'John…'

_Here it comes._

'I think we should have sex.'

John sighed. 'Sherlock, have you been reading fanfiction about us again?'

'It is very insightful.' Sherlock defended himself while trying to catch John's look.

'It is _not_ insightful, it is rubbish! And every time you read that crap you tell me we should have sex!?'

'It makes sense.'

'No it does not!'

Sherlock observed him intensely for a few seconds. 'You are cranky.'

'Excuse me?' John responded.

'You have been cranky and sulking around the house for days.'

'So?' John asked. 'What does that got to do with those bloody fanfiction stories?'

'Simple. In every story when you are cranky and skulking it is because you secretly long for me and are going through an inner struggle regarding your sexuality. After we have sex – which I unsurprisingly excel in – you are happy, relaxed and sulk-free.'

John looked horror-struck. 'And you take that stuff _serious_?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'These people know us very well, John. They spend a considerable amount of time studying us and in most of the more realistically written stories I find they manage to portray my character with a high level of accuracy.'

'Well, not my character!' John sputtered.

'Maybe not _all_ of them.' Sherlock admitted. 'I read one story that was supposed to be a narrative of my thoughts before kissing you to make you stop your annoying pondering about your sexuality, and ended up with _me_ pondering my feelings for _you_. Some of those writers have clearly lost touch with reality.'*

But John didn't listen.

'In any case, we are _not_ having sex just so I will be in a better mood.' He wanted to get up but Sherlock placed both hands on the doctors' knees and held him down.

'After sex with me you will not just be in a _better mood_, John. Didn't you hear me say I excel in the activity?'

John scorned. 'Yeah, according to a group of hormonal 16-year olds who have way too much time on their hands. So unless you actually slept with any of them; I will not take their word for it.'

'You could take _my_ word for it.' Sherlock's eyes pierced into John's. 'Or better yet: you could take _your own_ word for it.'

Suddenly the doctor felt his heart skip a beat and he forgot to breath. Sherlock seemed to loook right into his mind, read his thoughts. It was unnerving. Intimate….

John swallowed, turned away from his friend and got up.

'Thanks for the offer but the answer is no! If my mood is annoying you that much I will try to fake a more pleasant personality, like yours!' He said sarcastically.

Sherlock sighed and raised his eyebrows. 'Fine, be in denial.'

'I am not in denial!' John yelled.

Sherlock got up. 'Yes you are! You secretly want me and I know it! And the fangirls know it, so why don't you just admit it, John?'

John took a deep breath and stared out of the window. _Be calm. Count till ten. You cannot win this argument….. or can you? _ Suddenly an evil plan popped into his head. He looked back at Sherlock.

'Okay.' He said firmly.

'What?' Sherlock asked.

'Yes.' John said. 'I want you, Sherlock.'

'Aha! We knew it!' Sherlock did love being right.

John took a step towards his friend without taking his eyes off him.

'So let's have sex.'

Sherlock stared at him. Bewildered.

'Eeehm…'

John came closer and Sherlock involuntarily stepped back. 'Where are you going, baby?' John asked seductively, hooking his finger through one of the lopes on the detective's pants. 'I thought you offered yourself to me and I am saying yes, so start taking your clothes off.'

'John, stop it. You're not being funny.' Sherlock tried to sound bored but John could hear the insecurity in his voice. _Good._

'I am not trying to be funny. You were right, I do need to get laid and who better to do it with than you? Don't bother with the shirt, you can keep that on, I don't mind. Just undo you pants and put your hands on the kitchen table.'

'Ehm John…I…..' Sherlock sputtered, but John pulled his startled friend slowly towards the kitchen with one hands, while he unbuckled his own belt with the other.

'What's the matter? You need some romance first?' John's flashed to the detectives' lips. 'I can give you that.' John leaned in and prayed Sherlock would give in first. And he did.

'Jesus John stop I was only kidding!' Sherlock bolted away. 'I _don't _want us to have sex.'

John leaned on the kitchen table with both hands and looked at Sherlock. 'Good.' He said, his seductive tone was completely gone. 'Neither do I.'

'What…?' Sherlock was confused. John slowly broke into a grin. 'I was messing you, you sodding idiot! Now, don't ever read those bullocks stories again!'

John was still laughing about his clever prank when he sat back down on the couch. Sherlock was less amused. 'Stop gloating, John, you look utterly ridiculous!'

'What, you mean like how you looked when you thought I was going to do you over the kitchen table?'

'I never believed you for a second.'

'Oh please, you should have seen yourself: a deer in the headlights really!'

'Are you insinuating that I am afraid of sex?'

'Oh I'm sorry, was I too subtle?' John said sarcastically.

Sherlock squinted, and then got up. 'Okay, go into the bedroom, let's do it.'

John snorted. 'Why? So I can watch you jump again when I come close? No thanks.'

Sherlock gave him a fierce look. 'You _will_ come to the bedroom with me.'

John picked up his book again. 'Sorry, I am not in the mood.'

'John Hamish Watson, we are going to have sex, right now!'

'Sherlock bloody Holmes, I would sleep with _Mycroft_ before letting you near me.'

'Tempting as that sounds, Doctor Watson,' said a smooth and familiar voice near the door, 'you're not really my type.'

John turned to see Mycroft Holmes stand in the doorway. He gave John his usual fake polite smile.

John turned bright red and dropped his book. _Oh God! _

Next to him Sherlock started laughing. No fake grins or giggles but an actual deep laugh that filled the room. John, who usually liked the sound of Sherlock's laugh, hissed: 'Shut up, Sherlock!'

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Thank you all for reading! No insult intended towards the fan girls and boys! I love you all :)

*Of course I don't mean any of your stories, darlings! I mean my story 'You're thinking, its annoying'.


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews so far! They make me smile and write :)

* * *

Sherlock thinks John might actually punch him this time. His flat mate is so angry that he is passed his usual loud screaming and is now hissing to Sherlock in a very low, controlled voice, dripping with fury. The detective was applying his usual careless, disregarding manner of response to John's anger, but inside his empty stomach is now twisting and he feels like he will choke with every breath. He hates it when John is this angry. He hates to see how the soldier in his friend takes over and has to keep him calm when he knows very well that all John wants to do right now is hit him.

John had hit him once before (_without_ Sherlock asking him to do so). It was the evening of Sherlock's return, about a year ago. John was sitting alone in a fancy restaurant, waiting for a date, when Sherlock simply walked in. Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on John while one of the waiters helped the detective out of his coat.

The reunion did not go as he had planned, to say the least.

Admittedly, he had expected John to be a bit upset with him, but not like this… As soon as John saw Sherlock and realized he had lied to him, unknown anger seemed to take over his friend. The unconcealed fury of the doctor radiated from his body while he yelled at a stunned and slightly embarrassed Sherlock.

The detective told him he was ranting like a child and that 'people would talk' which usually shut John up, but not this time. Instead he dropped his voice making that low threatening hissing sound that had carried his anger even better than the screaming. Sherlock was slightly intimidated and he was sure his friend would take a swing at him.

However, John refused to hear anything the detective had to say and he stormed out of the restaurant, leaving a puzzled Sherlock behind. But less than a minute later John marched back in and Sherlock started to say: 'Ah good, I knew you'd come around!' But he had no chance to get out more than the first two words because the doctor walked up to him, hit him hard in the face, turned around and left again.

'John?' Sherlock had yelled after him.

'Welcome home Sherlock.' John had yelled back without looking at him.

_Home._ John had wanted him to come home. So he did.

The whole first week of their renewed flat-mate-ship John had stamped around the house angry, cursing, calling Sherlock names, and refusing to hear any explanation.

Sherlock endured it. At first he thought John might want him to leave, but every night and every morning the doctor threw a plate of food and a cup of tea in front of Sherlock, giving him a stern look which obviously demanded him to eat. And Sherlock did, hoping it would lighten John's mood, but it didn't. Nothing did. After a week Sherlock gave up trying to talk to John and went to see Lestrade to work on a case. He came home late. When he closed the front door behind him he heard John coming down from the stairs. Angry, as usual.

'Where the hell have you been?' He hissed. There was anger, Sherlock noticed, but there was also something else…. Concern? Worry?

'The Yard.' Sherlock said while hanging up his coat. He heard John come down the last steps of the stairs and the detective turned to face him, prepared for yet another argument. But instead, John came up to him and pulled Sherlock into a hug.

_A hug._

It was very uncomfortable for Sherlock, who generally despises physical contact, but he decided to endure it, for John, and slowly wrapped his arms around the smaller body of his friend. It felt better than expected. After all, intimacy with John is not like intimacy with anyone else. They stood like that for a few seconds, until John slowly pulled away, his eyes avoiding Sherlock's and clearing his throat.

'Tea?' He asked hoarsely.

Sherlock just nodded.

Things were better after that moment. Over tea Sherlock finally got to explain to his friend what exactly had happened between Moriarty and himself. John's anger was gone and he stopped hissing and calling Sherlock names. It had mystified Sherlock. If all John needed was a hug why hadn't he done that in the restaurant?!

Back to the present where John is still hissing in his extremely angry voice at Sherlock, who stares at his friend, incomprehensively. He honestly doesn't understand why John is so terribly upset, but it is very annoying. Determined to make things better Sherlock grabs Johns' arm when he turns to leave.

'What Sherlock?' John snaps angrily.

Sherlock pulls his friend in his arms and hugs him tightly. Their bodies are pressed together and Sherlock expects John to lean in and hug back.

But no such thing happens….

John struggles out of the embrace and stares at the detective, stunned but still flushed with anger.

'What the bloody hell was _that.'_

Sherlock is now even more confused. 'But… that… A hug…..Are-are you still angry?'

'Yes of course I am still angry, you sodding idiot!' But now John is yelling again.

Yelling. Loudly. Now longer the low frightening hiss.

Good. It worked.

Sherlock smiles. 'Tea?'

But John just yells: 'Oh shut up, Sherlock!'

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Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock hesitated in front of the bedroom door. John was not going to like this… Sherlock didn't like it himself but he was so cold. So cold. Too cold. He had put of going to the doctor for help, but now that his teeth were rattling and even the hot cup of tea could not warm his painfully cold hands, he could stand it no longer. He knew what John was going to say. He could hear the scoffing _I told you so_ in his ears.

When the blackout started, hours ago, his friend told him to stay warm, to wear more clothes, to drink tea, to get off the couch and away from the window. But he didn't. He was too busy contemplating the latest case to listen. But now…. Now he couldn't focus his mind and his whole body was hurting and in all Baker Street 221B there was only one heat source available….. Sherlock grinded his teeth. This was going to be embarrassing. Especially after what had happened the other night….

His thoughts trailed back to the last night he had slept in John's bed, a few days ago. John had been sleeping at his girlfriends' house for two nights, so when he was finally home, Sherlock happily sneaked into his friend's bed in the middle of the night.

The doctor was sleeping on his right side, away from Sherlock who lay on his back, starring at the ceiling. Suddenly, John grunted, turned over, and - to Sherlock's horror - flung his arm over Sherlock's chest and lay his head on the detective's shoulder. Sherlock froze. Maybe John's girlfriend had liked this, but the detective was horribly uncomfortable. He held his breath as if he tried to shrink and slip out from under John's embrace, but it was pointless.

'Eeh… John…' Sherlock had whispered, but his friend was vast asleep.

'John?' A little louder now.

No response.

'JOHN.' He yelled.

'Wh- what?' John awoke with a start. He moved slightly and immediately noticed how close he was to Sherlock, who gave him an accusing look.

'Oh… oh, sorry Sherlock.'

'Please move John! You know I hate to be touched.'

'I am moving. Jeez, you didn't have to yell in my ears!'

'Don't bring your ears this close to me and it will not happen.'

'You are in _my_ bed, Sherlock.'

'That doesn't give you permission to grope me.'

'For God's sake I wasn't _groping_ you! I was asleep! And I apologized.'

'Still, control yourself or I…'

'Or you'll what? Sleep in your own bed? I am okay with that!' John sneered sarcastically.

'You seemed to be very happy with me two minutes ago.' Sherlock scoffed.

'Oh just go to sleep Sherlock.' John had commented before turning away and falling asleep again.

Sherlock had deleted that night because he did not think he would ever need the memory again, but it had suddenly resurfaced when he was contemplating asking for John's help now. John was not going to like this…

Shivering and shaking in front of the bedroom door he weighted his options, but there were basically only two: staying painfully cold or asking John for help. The cold was too much. He couldn't feel his toes anymore. He took many – too many – rapid breaths, and, most alarmingly, he kept losing track of his thoughts. He started to become confused.

All signs of the first stage of hypothermia.

So Sherlock knocked. There was no answer. He opened the door.

'John?'

John was hardly visible under the pile of blankets. He grunted. 'Go away Sherlock.'

'I n-need yourrr h-help.' John did not hear his teeth clattering.

'If it is for some stupid experiment: no. If it is for anything else: I will consider it in the morning.' Came the muffled response from under the covers.

'N-neither.' Said Sherlock. 'It's medical.'

John stuck his head out from somewhere under the blankets. 'What?'

Sherlock tried to take a deep breath, but the cold air seemed to hurt his lungs. 'I-I am c-c-cold.'

The doctor frowned at him. 'Well, yeah Sherlock, there's no heating and it is a below-zero December night, of course you're cold. Drink tea. Go to bed.'

'Don't be d-d-dense d-d-doctor. I t-tried that alr-ready.'

Now he seemed to have John's attention. His friend leaned up in his bed on one elbow and gave Sherlock a questioning look.

'How long have you been shivering like this?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Long enough! For G-God's sake J-John. Can w-we skippp the questions?'

John flicked on the light next to his bed and Sherlock saw the shocked look on his friends' face when he saw the detective.

'Jesus Sherlock your lips are blue!' He flipped the covers open and gestured Sherlock to come into the bed. 'Why didn't you come to me before, you bloody idiot?'

Sherlock didn't answer. He stepped into the bed and continued to shiver violently.

John unceremoniously pulled a woolen hat over Sherlock's dark curls and looked at him. 'Sherlock….' He started hesitantly. 'I know you hate to be touched, but….'

'_I know John. _Why else did you think I came to you, John?!' Sherlock snarled at him, while trying to keep his teeth clenched together. He knew he must look ridiculous in the woolen hat. Well, at least it wasn't a deerstalker.

John took a deep breath and decided to ignore his friends' tone. Instead he turned off the lights, flung the covers over the two of them and carefully wrapped his arms around Sherlock's ice cold body. Sherlock leaned in and pushed himself closer to his warm friend. John started rubbing Sherlock's back and Sherlock lay his stone cold feet to his friends'.

'Bloody hell!' John yelped, but he didn't move his feet.

It was intimate, awkward, but somehow Sherlock was strangely comfortable at the same time._Must be the warmth_ he thought. After a minute Sherlock untangled his hands, which he had clenched to his own chest, and fidgeted them under John's shirt.

John swore. Loudly.

'Are you trying to give me a heart attack?'

'I will l-l-lose my f-f-fingers, John. Don't be s-s-selfish.'

'Stop rubbing your nose to my chest.'

'Okay-y.' Sherlock responded, and he tucked his face in the doctor's warm neck instead.

John quivered and swore again.

They lay silent like that for a few minutes. The only sound came from Sherlock's clattering teeth. When that finally started to die down John said: 'I told you…'

_Here we go,_ Sherlock thought.

'I told you to make an effort to stay warm! To wear more clothes, drink tea, sleep under a lot of blankets!'

Sherlock ignored him.

'It also would help if you ate more.'

Still no response.

'If you had listened to me before I wouldn't have to endure your icy hands on my skin right now.'

'Take comfort in the fact that I do not _enjoy_ warming my icy hands on your skin, John.' Sherlock sneered.

'I'm just saying…'

'Could you please go to sleep, John? I promise I will follow your precious advise to the letter during the next black out.' The detective said sarcastically.

They were both annoyed but they didn't move away from each other. John continued to rub Sherlock's cold back, and the detective couldn't stop himself from moving and trying to get closer to his friend.

After a while the rubbing stopped and Sherlock felt John's grip loosen and his breathing became deep and regular; the doctor was asleep.

When Sherlock decided he was warm enough he carefully rolled out of John's arms, and on his back, starring at the ceiling.

His brain was clear and focused again. Good.

Next to him John groaned and moved closer.

_Oh no!_ Sherlock thought. But before he could move John had rolled to right next to him and was flinging one arm over his chest again.

Sherlock cleared his throat. 'Ehm… John?'

But John didn't move and just murmured: 'Shut up, Sherlock.'

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Thank you for reading. If you have an opinion about the story: leave a review! Many thanks!


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